Drills
by Gwendolyn Rogan
Summary: With the demand of his responsibilities monopolizing his time, Sheppard has become neglectful and now has to pay for it [One Shot]


A/N – Inspired by a recent trip to a certain place. Ambiguity is my best friend.

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Drills

"_Ow_."

"That's what you get for having a curious tongue."

Sheppard glared up at her, squinting against the bright light and wishing that his mouth wasn't otherwise occupied. Jethro Tull played in the background.

"Don't give me that look, John. It's your fault and you know it."

_Doesn't mean I have to like it_, he snorted, still unable to speak.

The sound of the drill buzzed in his ears. Dentists. He hated dentists. Actually, he hated hygienists. They scraped at your gums and scratched at your teeth as if punishing you for not brushing properly; usually he managed to get the one who practically removed teeth when she flossed. And they all asked questions about your day and your life when they were elbow deep in your mouth. Every single one of them, whether they were in Colorado, Antarctica, or the Pegasus Galaxy, and he was starting to wonder if there was some class they all had to take to ensure their chairside manner sucked. Surely it couldn't be a coincidentally shared trait.

His jaw ached.

And if he was right, there was drool dribbling down his chin. Not terribly flattering considering both the dentist and the hygienist were women. Normally he wouldn't mind having the likes of them hovering over him, leaning in the general direction of each other, and giving him ample view. Today, however, between the Novocain, the drill, and the smell of burning enamel, it wasn't all that enjoyable.

"Is that your root canal?" a woman's voice cut through the drill.

"Practically," Doctor Flynn replied under breath. She gave Sheppard a sympathetic look. "How're you doing down there?"

"Uh," meaning good.

"Is there any pain?"

"Uh," meaning no.

"Do you need another shot?"

"Uh," meaning hurry the crap up, I've got things to do.

"Almost done," she assured. "I'll have you off your back soon."

"Uh-uh," meaning okay.

He supposed, with a mental sigh, that this was his fault. All those nights of falling exhausted into bed without even the strength to undress had led to a cavity of monumental proportions. He used to be good about brushing and flossing and mouth washing. He took pride in his gleaming smile. This assignment had changed all that.

Scratch that, he thought, this was the Wraith's fault. Indirectly, of course, but if they weren't so presumptuous as to make his species food than he would still have his pearly whites (and possibly a less interesting station back on Earth).

The drill stopped. Thank _God_.

_and your wise men don't know how it feels to be thick as a brick_

"I'm ready for the alloy, Terri," Doctor Flynn said. The hygienist disappeared from view and Sheppard took this opportunity to give the dentist the once over. She was a woman he rarely saw outside of her office since she tended to stick to this somewhat secluded part of the greater infirmary area. It was a nice spot with a panoramic view of the city and Sheppard wondered, whenever he was here, how exactly she had managed to secure it as her own. Maybe Carson had given into some private plea from the homely-yet-strangely-attractive female dentist. Or maybe she had pulled the ever so popular I-saw-it-first card once the medical ward had been established. However it had happened, score one for dentistry.

A prod to his tongue brought him out of his musings.

"Don't inspect the hole," Doc Flynn said. "We don't want to trap bacteria under the filling and have to remove the tooth."

Weren't there any optimistic, let's-save-your-teeth dentists out there? Any who weren't plier-happy? It had been three pulled teeth as a kid that finally convinced him to take care of them.

"I'd rather keep my teeth, thank you very much," is what he tried to say. What actually came out was a rather slurred and sad imitation. He wiped at the drool on his chin before she could mop it up with a piece of gauze; a vain attempt to keep what little dignity he had left, laying on his back and effectively exposed as he was.

The process of filling the hole with more metal than allowed through airport security was just as jaw-wrenching, tooth-rending, and numbly painful as it always had been and always would be. By the time he was done, Sheppard felt sure he could swallow a cantaloupe whole.

"Now, don't eat anything hot for the next couple of hours; you might burn your mouth without realizing it," Doc Flynn said as she removed her mask and protective glasses, smiling as she did so. "In fact, try not to eat anything at all. It would be a shame to see you back in here missing half your tongue. What use would you be then?"

"Ha," he allowed. The hygienist ignored him and Doctor Flynn simply cocked her head to one side, a slight smile curving her lips.

"Have a good day, John."

"Yeah, you too."

He stood slowly out of the chair before striding out of the corner office and through the infirmary, hoping he would be able to make it back to his quarters before anyone could spot him.

Foiled.

Rodney rounded a corner and gave Sheppard a lop-sided grin.

"I was just on my way to the infirmary to see if you were done. Want to get some food and go over the 'jumper diagnostics?"

Not one to always heed warnings, Sheppard shrugged in agreement and slurred, "Sure."

Rodney just grinned wider and led the way to the mess, through the line, and to a table where he plopped down a tray with roughly twice the amount of food Sheppard had gathered, chattering about this and that about some project he was working on. Conversation ceased, however, as they started into their meals and it was only when Sheppard felt the inevitable crunch of tongue under tooth that he spoke.

"Ow," and then, "Crab." Crap.

"Didn't I warn you about your curious tongue?" Doc Flynn said as she paused briefly next to their table, her two hygienists on her heels. They looked indifferent and unamused by their superior who was still smiling, always smiling.

Sheppard grunted and noted to some satisfaction her crooked tooth; it always seemed to make him feel better. Still, he watched her retreating back with the slightest of smiles and returned to his meal just in time to catch Rodney's scandalized expression.

"Are you sleeping with the dentist?"

"What? No! Eat your food, Rodney."

The other man continued to watch him, food no longer passing from his plate to his mouth, as if silently accusing the colonel of hiding something. He didn't like being out of the loop.

"Kirk," he muttered, perpetually amused by the joke.

Sheppard just ate, careful to cause his tongue no further damage.


End file.
